


Shot in the Dark

by Dana



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Parents, Angst and Violence, M/M, Post Series, That Should About Cover It ha ha ha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 10:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15265272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: Gene is out of town for the weekend, and Sam and Ruthie have the house to themselves.  Bad things happen, and then continue to happen.





	Shot in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this story for close to forever now, it seems. This ties into the Married Coppers series by **soongtypeprincess** (see link below!). So it's kind of a shared universe and this is my first offering to it! There are a few more things I definitely want to get written. So, this is, uh, a bit different from what you might be familiar with given the rest of the series. But, um, do enjoy!

Sam woke to the sound of his own panicked gasping. He hadn't meant to fall asleep – the bedside lamp was still on, glowing pleasantly orange, and the shadows it cast faded into cold darkness beyond a bubble of warm orange.

The book he'd been reading had ended up on the floor as his fingers went lax, and he was still wearing his reading glasses. He sat up and took them off, setting them aside before rubbing at his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the clock – it was after midnight, Ruthie would have been asleep for hours by now. Sleep – and bad dreams. God, what a dream he must have been having – even though he'd only just woken from it, the memory of it was already gone from his mind.

He was alone in the bed that he usually would have been sharing with Gene. He was away down south in London for a police convention, one he'd tried strong-arming his way out of – but the Super just wouldn't have any of it, probably only because he didn't want to be the one who had to do. He'd only be gone until Monday evening, at the latest, but it felt like forever. They were always so close, at work, at home. Maybe that was a detriment, at times, but their life was a work in progress, their love was a daily choice.

Gene had complained about having to leave for the weekend, had griped some more when he'd rung them up as soon as he arrived. He'd been positively delighted to hear Ruthie's voice on the other end of the line. Sam would have wanted to be with him, they could have made a family outing of it, whenever Gene had the free time. Still, he and Ruthie could have had a lot of fun on their own, there was so much to do in London, even in the middle of the 80s. Sam trusted CID to run smoothly without them there – Ray had grown deceptively competent through the years, and Chris as well, and Annie could always be counted on – but, yet again, it was all because of the Super. The man would have doubtlessly imploded. Too many personal days, he'd have said. Probably didn't actually have a heart, the bastard.

So Sam and Ruthie were alone in Manchester, and Gene was worlds away from them in London, and Sam – 

_'DADDYYY!'_

Oh, God – it hadn't been a dream. It had been the sound of Ruthie's voice as she screamed for him at the top of her lungs that had woken him so suddenly, and now she was calling for him again.

He threw the covers back and jumped out of bed. He passed by the door to the bathroom and opened Ruthie's without knocking – usually, that would have been of vital importance, her being old enough now to understand the concept of privacy and much of what it entailed. But she was in need, and he knew that she would understand.

He opened the door and flicked on the light. She was sat up in bed, hair a curly, rumpled mess and tears running down her face, cheeks blotchy and red. 'Daddy,' she whimpered, and Sam's heart thumped painfully hard as he rushed to his daughter's side.

'Hey, hey, hey.' She extended her arms and he bent to pick her up, let her press her tear-soaked face into the shoulder of his pyjamas. 'Did you have a bad dream?'

She whimpered again, still crying softly.

'Do you want to talk about it?'

She shook her head fiercely. She was quite like Gene in that regard, for better or for worse.

Sam smiled gently, and pressed a kiss to sleep-tousled curls. 'That's okay, you don't have to if you don't want to. Whatever it was that scared, you're safe now, baby. It can't get you, Daddy's here.'

Ruthie sniffled loudly, rubbed her face against blue and white plaid.

'How about some warm milk? That should help you get back to sleep.'

She lifted her head up to peek at him, face still pink, eyes glistening. 'And some Garibadli's, too?'

They were Gene's favourite, but they were hers as well. His smile broadened and he ached with the love he felt for the both of them. 'Yeah, Ruthie-girl. We can have some Garibaldi's.'

'We?' Her expression brightened somewhat. 'You'll have one too?'

'Yes, just one each. I'm sure Papa will understand why we had to open the new tin.' Bad dreams were, after all, very serious business.

She gave him a watery smile.

Sam glanced at her stuffed lion Bertram, who had been cast to one side of her bed. 'Would Bertie like to come along?'

Another defiant shake of her head, curls flying. 'No,' she said, nose scrunched up and little temper flaring. 'He's supposed t'keep the bad dreams away. He doesn't deserve a biscuit, it's his fault I cried.'

He started towards the door and the hallway beyond. 'I bet this should teach him a lesson. I know he loves the Garibaldi's as much as you do, baby girl.'

She rested her head against his shoulder as he carried her down stairs. She was getting older, and bigger, but still loved it when either of her fathers carried her about. Sam loved it, too – knew it was something she would eventually grow out of, the way she would outgrow so much more, so he was determined to cherish it as long as he was allowed.

As they neared the kitchen, he lost himself in the wonder of it all: this life he had built, with Gene, because of Annie, that he would never change, ever, not for anything in the world. The child that had turned their house into the warmest of homes, more than just the glue that held them together, the family he had gained after losing everything else. He'd never thought much about the possibility of it, that he could one day be a father; there was work, there was always work, he was quite the career driven man. Couldn't have imagined it, doing this sort of thing with Maya, because she was driven in so many of the same ways. She'd not been interested in children, avoided the topic of them like the plague, and until Sam had seen just how badly Gene had wanted a child of his own, he'd thought the same of himself.

Now Ruthie was seven years old, and probably one of the most spoiled children in the whole of Manchester. She was smart and she was clever and she had a heart of gold, and she had two dads who loved her fiercely, a whole station full of police who would put their lives on the line for her. She'd completed him in ways that Sam couldn't have thought possible – in the delivery room, as she cried for the first time ever, Sam had been seized with sudden emotion, fierce and eternal. Maybe it was his heart breaking. Maybe it was love.

The nurse had cleaned her up, tucked her into a soft, warm blanket. Annie got to hold her first – it was her hard work that had helped to bring her into the world, after all – and then the nurse was gone, though they'd been told to call promptly if anything was needed. The new family needed some time alone, though theirs was a peculiar sort of family. Two dads, and the cutest baby girl the world had ever seen. A mother by act alone, a gift that Sam felt, could never be repaid.

Annie had cleared her throat. She was red-faced, her hair a total wreck – she'd been in labour for hours and the painkillers had only ever taken an edge off the contractions, never done away with them completely. Gene had weathered the shouting and the cursing like it was the only right thing in the world, and of course it was. Shook his hand once after Annie had gripped it so tightly, it was a wonder the bones hadn't been broken.

She'd stayed working as long as she possibly could, until she'd nearly broke down in the middle of CID – she was stubborn in her own way, Ruthie would get that from both of them. Knew she shouldn't have been so foolish, had apologised already – it wasn't just her life that had been on the line.

'Who wants to hold her first?'

They glanced at each other, and Sam touched Gene on the arm, gave his warmest smile. He could see Gene was getting choked up just at the thought of it, but he soldiered on through and gave a gruff nod of his head. Looked just about ready to float up off the ground as he took the tiny baby into his arms, eyes filling with tears.

'Hey, little girl. Welcome to the world, been waiting to meet you.’

Sam stepped up beside him, put an arm about his shoulders. Leaned into him, smiled down into Ruthie's pink-cheeked face. Her eyes were so big and blue, her fingers fisted into tight little balls. She gaped up at them, opened and shut her mouth. At least she wasn't crying… oh, there was going to be a lot of crying. And nappies. Them up at all hours of the night.

Warmth grew in Sam's chest, suffused him completely. This was what they had been waiting for, working towards – and here she was, beautiful, perfect. Finally there for them to hold.

'Fatherhood suits the both of you,' Annie said, breaking the silence. Sam was grinning like an idiot, and Gene, well, he looked as much the fool, softened with emotion and with the glistening of tears in his eyes. Holding Ruthie so carefully, nervous as he'd never been before, afraid he might drop her, that she might break.

'I'm doing it right?'

'Yes, Guv, you're doing it perfectly.' Annie yawned. 'She's so beautiful. She's got your eyes.'

Gene's eyes, and the slightest fuzz of sandy-blonde hair atop her head.

'Thank you, Annie,' he said. His voice was tremulous, the worlds very carefully pronounced. Like he was two seconds away from breaking down, sobbing, able to hold his daughter in her arms.

'Don't you worry, Guv,' she said, looked as tired as she sounded. But there was something teasing in her some, something loving. 'You'll pay me back some day, I'm sure.'

Sam gaze him a tight squeeze, pressed a kiss to his cheek.

'You wanna hold her?' Gene asked, hesitant. As though he was hoping Sam would say no.

'You can hold her a few minutes more,' Sam had said. 'You're a natural.'

Gene had beamed at him. They both gazed down at Ruthie as she giggled at nothing and then, quite abruptly, burst into tears. 'What did I do!' The panic in his voice was real, his eyes gone wide in his fear. 'Gladys, do something!'

Sam acted without thinking. Before he was even aware of what had happened, Gene had passed Ruthie to him. He was holding his daughter for the very first time, shrill cries splitting the air. More action without thought, and Sam rocked her gently, cooed a string of absolute nonsense. 'Hey, hey, hey,' he said.

Maybe it was the sound of a different voice. Maybe it was the face he was making, not that he'd meant it to be funny. She paused in her shrieking to stare up at him with her big, wet eyes, blinking several times. Giggled, and Sam's smiled broadened. She didn't even know who he was. Oh, Annie had put up with him and Gene both talking to her in the womb. Gene had thought it was ridiculous – but it hadn't stopped him from trying, even singing her songs that his mum had used to sing to him. Sam talked to her, too, as Annie looked on bemused. Had her listening to all sorts of classical music, headphones stretched over Annie's wide belly. They were all delighted by it when she responded by moving around.

Now, Ruthie was in Sam's arm, pink-faced and giggling, staring wide-eyed at her and then Gene, and back again. And he knew that she didn't yet _know_ , no matter how they had tried to bond with her before she had been born. But she was in his arms now, Gene's hand warm on his shoulder. He never wanted to let her go. She closed her eyes, little mouth stretching into an impossibly big yawn.

'I think she's asleep.'

'Shh. Don't wake her.'

'Daddy?'

The hospital room of seven years ago faded away to memory. The Ruthie of now was wondering why he'd stopped in the middle of the lounge.

'Are we gonna get the Garibaldi's?'

'Yeah, baby – sorry. Daddy was miles away.'

'Silly Daddy.'

'Silly Daddy,' he solemnly intoned. 'Hey, here we go.' Finally, they had made it into the kitchen. She clung to him with renewed strength as he tried to set her down next to the kitchen table. They all had their permanently assigned seats, decided by Ruthie's very particular whim. When Bertram wasn't confined to the bedroom for bad behaviour, he had his own place, to Ruthie's right. It was the same old high-chair that she'd used when she was very small.

More things for her to grow out of, innocence and naivety of childhood lost to the harshness of real life. He would protect her always, and Gene would too, and she would always be their little girl – but there was no way to stop her from growing up. One day, she'd be a teen, and before they knew it, she'd be an adult.

He felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, Ruthie's weight in his arms. Honestly, he knew it was Gene who had more of an issue with the fact their little girl was going to grow up, fact was fact. Maybe one day, she wouldn't even need them. Definitely wouldn't, the way she needed them now.

And it made Sam's heart ache, but that was life. And life – 

Well, it had a way of happening as it was going to happen, no matter what.

'Don't you want to sit down? Daddy needs both hands so he can make your milk.'

She clung to him, shaking. 'No.'

'No?'

' _No_.'

'Baby…' He sighed, kissed her cheek. Pulled a chair out from where it was tucked in beneath the table. 'Come on, please? At this rate, we're never going to get to have our biscuits.'

'Daddy,' she whined.

'Yes, baby-girl?'

'Papa says you're good at, uh, multi… multi-tasking?' She hid her face against his sleeve. 'You don't need both hands to make my milk.'

'Ruth Anne.' It was true, but he was trying to make a _point_.

'Daddy, _please_.'

It broke him, her pleading tone. He really shouldn't let her get away with it, only, she'd had a bad dream. And she was still trembling. And it really was the only thing he could do for her, aside from giving her the world. 'But don't tell Papa, okay?'

She smiled at him, eyes lighting up. 'Yes, Daddy.'

'Promise?'

' _Promise_.'

–  
–

'Bertram's sorry for making me cry,' Ruthie said with a big yawn. She'd walked along side Sam from the kitchen, hand in his, until he'd bent to pick her up. Her head was pillowed against his upper arm and they were very near to her bedroom.

'Do you think he wants to sleep in the big bed, too?'

'Yes, Daddy. He does.'

She closed her eyes. Smiling, he quickly slipped into her room and picked Bertram up. Ruthie roused long enough to take him into her arms, cuddling him as she snuggled against Sam. She'd insisted she could sleep all by herself, before the nightmare had woken her, she was a big girl now and she wouldn't be afraid. And yet, as Sam cleaned up after their solitary biscuits and mug of warm milk, Ruthie had asked if it would be okay for her to join him in his and Gene's room.

The answer had, of course, been that she could.

He let her down so she could climb up into bed herself. She favoured Sam's side, curled up with Bertram clutched to her tightly. 'Goodnight, Daddy.' She gave another enormous yawn, and was very quickly asleep. Sam envied her that – it was another trait she shared with Gene. They fell asleep so very easily, while Sam could lay awake for hours and hours, anxious thoughts whirling about his head. It was the world they lived in, it was the job he did. It was everything he wanted to make sure he did right, when he'd done so many things wrong.

He climbed into bed and scooted close, pulled the covers up over them. Even though she couldn't hear him, before he closed his eyes he said: 'Goodnight, baby-girl.'

She murmured softly, and Sam wished for the impossible to happen, and for him to quickly slide into dreams.

–  
–

It was turning into a very ordinary Sunday. Gene rang them from his hotel at about half-eleven, bored and irritated and only too happy to complain about both things at length. There were conferences and meetings and _graphs_ , and he hated it all, and honestly, Sam didn't mind it at all, Gene going on and on at the other end of the line. 'Wish you were here with me,' Gene said after a long pause, deep sigh resonating from across the miles. 'How are the lot of you holding up?'

'Ruthie's chatting with Bertram. They're deciding what we should have for lunch.'

'Anything green?'

'She's agreed to have some peas with her casserole,' Sam laughed. She was not quite the fussy eater she'd been as a somewhat younger child, but it did sometimes happen she would adamantly put her feet down when it came to eating her vegetables. Her temper would flare, and it made him think of Gene – but it was thanks to Gene that Sam had refined his negotiating skills, at least when it came to getting their daughter to eat her greens.

'She knows she needs to eat them, even if she doesn't always want to. If she doesn't, how's she ever going to grow up big and strong like her Papa?'

'And smart like her Daddy,' came Gene's equally fond, yet teasing, reply. Then, another sigh. 'The bloody hullabaloo they're putting us through – God, Sammy, I wish you could be here.' The force of Gene's words sent a ripple of sensation across Sam's skin, twisted up his stomach in knots before exploding into a fit of butterflies. 'This sort of thing is straight up your alley, I'm just… I'm no good at any of it.'

'The future is here, Guv.’ A future Sam had witnessed, and was living again, in no way the same as it had been the first time through. ‘Embrace it, or be left behind. It's something we all have to face.'

'So you say, but the truth is, I only want to be embraced by you,' he said, as close to petulant as he could get – Sam could picture the pout. 'Put the Mouse on, I've got to get going.'

'Will do – Ruthie, are you finished deciding what else we'll have for lunch?'

She nodded. 'Bertram thinks we should have the… the noodles… the casserole! With the ham and cheese, and, if we must,' she finished, somewhat sulkily, 'the peas.'

Sam laughed. 'That's a wonderful idea! Here, baby-girl – Papa wants to talk to you.'

She sprung up, delighted. Put the receiver to her ear, and smiled. 'Hello, Papa. I miss you, do you miss us?'

Sam heard the quake in Gene's voice as he replied. 'Yes, baby-girl, I do. Are you being good for your Daddy?'

'Yes! We're going to have peas in the casserole, and Daddy said that if – ' She looked up at him, biting her bottom lip. 'Can I tell him, Daddy?'

'Yes, Ruthie, you can.'

'If I eat three whole bites of the noodles, and the _peas_ , then we can go to the park!'

'Three bites!' Gene gave a big laugh. 'That's an awful lot of peas.'

Ruthie's face scrunched as she smiled and laughed. 'I really like the noodles.' It needed to be said, that broccoli and cheese soup was still her least favourite dish, no matter how small the broccoli was chopped up, no matter how well it had been cooked. 'The noodles are the best part.'

'That's true, aren't they your favourite? I'm sure you'll have no trouble clearing your plate!'

'I bet you're right,' she giggled.

Sam, though, was was sure that, after she ate her required three bites of the terrible green things, Ruthie would be picking the peas out from the rest of her spoonfuls of food. His daughter paused and, with a suddenly sombre air about her, she twisted her hand about in the phone cord. 'Papa, will you be home soon? Only, Bertram misses you terribly. He wants you to tell him a bedtime story.'

'What? Don't Daddy's hold up?'

She shot Sam the guiltiest of looks. 'You do the voices,' she whispered. 'Daddy doesn't.'

There was another laugh from the other side of the phone, then a heavy pause. 'I've got to go now, Ruthie. You tell Daddy that I love him, and give him a big hug for me, okay? But wait until we've finished our talk… that way it can be the best surprise.'

'I will, Papa. I love you!'

'I love you, baby-girl.'

Sam took the phone after Gene had hung up, and set the receiver back on the handle. 'I've got a message for you from Papa,' she said, quite solemnly.

'You do? What's it he wanted you to tell me?'

She smiled, head tilted to the side. 'He loves you! And he wants me to give you a big hug!'

Sam spread his arms wide and scooped Ruthie up into the biggest hug he could give her. Her own arms wrapped around him as best she could, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. 'I love you, Daddy.'

He rested his forehead against hers, couldn't imagine a more perfect moment. 'I love you too, baby-girl.'

–  
–

Lunch was a smashing success. The casserole really was one of Ruthie's favourite dishes, even with it including the peas, and a breeze to whip up; she cleared her plate as quickly as she could, even slowing down some when Sam admonished her and told her to make sure she chewed her food up properly before she swallowed. And yes, there were an awful lot of peas left over, but she'd held up her end of the bargain – they would be going to the park.

He'd had to alter his recipe some so as to only make half a full portion, since it was only the two of them eating it – and as fond as Ruthie was of the dish, she wasn't that big a fan of leftovers. Oh, that was something else she'd picked up from Gene, but then again, maybe she'd got that one from Sam, as it was a bad habit that all three of them shared.

Ruthie was old enough to pick out her own clothes and dress herself, though she did like to have Sam or Gene's approval; it was a part of her daily routine, just like taking a bath and brushing her teeth. She was still especially proud of herself for them allowing her to tend to those things before bedtime without their supervision – oh, but they'd come running if she called for them, of course they would.

God, she really was growing up.

They were standing at the landing at the foot of the stairs, pale light slanting in from the frosted glass windows that adorned the front door, twinkles of dust lazing through the air. 'You've got your buttons done up wrong again, baby-girl,' he said, and she giggled at him as she smiled.

'I did that on purpose,' she said, whisper-soft. 'I like it when you make sure my buttons are done up right.'

He knelt down to give her a hand. The button-up jumper was a soft, egg-shell blue, over a long-sleeved top covered in yellow and pink flowers. She'd wear skirts and dresses if the occasion called for it, like if they were going somewhere fancy, or if she was visiting Gwendolyn's, but trousers were in order as they were heading to the park – the ones she'd chosen were dark red burgundy, off-set by a pair of darker blue Converse. Red was one of her favourite colours, but blue was one of her others.

Sam hardly put as much thought into his own clothing. The jacket he wore was butter-soft brown leather, and it did suit his complexion (Gene was a very big fan of Sam in almost any sort of leather, that never got old). Sam, with his own fashion hang ups, had never outgrown his unexpected love of Cuban heels.

'Are we ready?'

'Not until you've made sure Bertram's buttons are done up right!'

Usually he would wear his little uniform top, but over the years they had commissioned plenty of hand-made clothing for their daughter's favourite stuffed toy to wear, and some of them had been made by Gwendolyn, personally. He now had outfits for every occasion, from pyjama suits to formal wear. Today he was wearing a dark-grey button-up jumper, of a cut similar to Ruthie's.

Sam took his duty as button-upper quite seriously as he checked to make sure everything was in order.

'There! All done. Now we're ready, surely?'

Ruthie nodded, bright with her enthusiasm. 'Yes! Come on Daddy, let's go!'

He stood up quickly, made sure he had his wallet and grabbed up his keys from where they were hanging. Ruthie had hold of Bertram, was squeezing him tightly. She offered Sam her hand, and he took it. As they made their way out of the house, door locked securely behind them, a cool breeze blew and ruffled Ruthie's curls, done up in two ribbon-adorned ponytails. It was a beautiful spring day and the sky was clear of clouds, though maybe that would change by late-afternoon. There was plenty of daylight left for them to have fun at the park, and once they got back home, maybe there would be time for a nap before Sam made dinner.

'We'll get to have ice cream, won't we?'

'I'm sure we'll be able to. Miss Martha always takes her cart to the park on Sundays.'

Ruthie paused thoughtfully. 'I think I might want chocolate today.'

'Chocolate?' Sam feigned a shocked gasp. 'You really are growing up.'

She giggled, delighted by Sam's praise.

Ruthie wanted to open the door on her own, and Sam let her. Watched as she clambered over to where her car seat was and made herself comfortable, only, then it was Sam's time to shine. Gene had called him ridiculous for getting the car seat in the first place, calling it a waste of time as well as a waste of money. Sam knew that much smaller, younger children were still allowed to ride without safety restraints, the laws surrounding it were still nebulous. But he was also quite familiar with the statistics that went along with it, and as he's put it to Gene in no uncertain terms, he wasn't going to let their daughter become a statistic, and neither was Gene.

He made sure she was fastened in securely but not too tightly, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. 'Are we all set?'

She nodded, gave Bertram a squeeze. 'Yes!

Sam really was growing into a sympathetic old fool. His car was a blue Ford Cortina, bought after Gene had needed to put the old bronze one to rest. It really was for the best, the old thing was in a miserable state of repair – too much fast driving, and one too many close calls, had signalled the beginning of the end for what had once been Gene's most treasured possession. Actually, he'd let go of it a lot easier than Sam would have thought would be possible – but even Gene must have known there was nothing to be done for it, though Gene had tried, and tried, and _tried_. But it was a case of a chronically bad transmission, and an engine that had weathered one storm too many – all thanks to Gene's driving. What it needed now was to be taken out back and put out of its misery.

The bigger surprise was Gene's new ride. A red Audi Quattro! Gene, of course, thought his was the better car, and was not half the speed demon with it as he'd been with the old Cortina. He washed it by hand and sometimes Ruthie would help him, or Sam would, and it would end up with the lot of them soaking wet, but at least the car was clean and dry.

And yes, it was a very nice car, and yes, also, Gene would probably never get tired of trying to get a rise out of Sam over nothing, no matter what. Sam thought his own vehicle was still more pleasing to the eye – because it was just as fun to try and get a rise out of Gene, not only because he was a sympathetic old fool.

He got into the driver's side seat and gave the steering wheel a fond pat. 'Come on, Daddy,' Ruthie called from the back seat. 'We need to hurry up! They're going to run out of ice cream!'

Sam smiled as he put the key into the ignition. They couldn't have that.

–  
–

Ruthie's energy was endless. She bounded across the park, swinging and running and jumping and climbing, laughing out loud and shrieking in delight. There were a few other families about, and Ruthie socialised with children before setting off on new adventures, always in Sam's line of sight. She led, and she followed – they were bringing her up just perfectly, Sam had no doubt.

But, watching as she ran about and had the time of her life, it made him feel his age. Sam certainly wasn't the same man he'd been when he'd first woken in the wasteland of 1973, but even then, he hadn't been _young_.

He put his hands on his hips, stretched. Oh, Gene said he was still sleek and scrawny and couldn't get enough of him, and Sam believed him, sure, but he could feel it in his bones. He needed to start walking more, or running, or doing something – anything. There wasn't much more sugar he could cut out of their diets, the weekly ice cream was Ruthie's one big treat that could almost always be counted on. But there had to be something he could do – 

But being a cop was one full time job, and then he was a parent. Sure, Gene was his partner in both affairs, but… Sam lost himself for a moment, gazing into the distance. He brushed his wedding ring with the back of his thumb, and frowned as he thought of Gene, so many miles away. Gene wasn't always there, was he?

He was startled back to the present as Ruthie knocked into him, giving his legs a tight hug. 'Daddy!'

He smiled down at her, a little dazed. 'Are you all finished playing, baby-girl?'

She took a step back and he returned Bertram to her. She gave a big nod, curly hair dancing about wildly. 'I am! Can we have our ice cream now?'

He nodded, and held out his hand for her to take it.

Miss Martha was delighted to see her. 'Hello, Ruthie! Is it strawberry today then, love?'

'Actually,' Ruthie giggled, 'I'd really like chocolate today, please!'

'Oh! Chocolate! Well that's quite a surprise!'

'Daddy says it's good to try new things.'

She accepted her cone with a very serious 'thank you'. Bertram was in one arm, and the ice cream was in the other – she'd pulled away from Sam to take her treat as Miss Martha had offered it. The woman smiled at him, eyes twinkling. 'And for you today, Mr Tyler?'

'Uh, strawberry, please.'

She handed him his cone, and he passed over a handful of coins. 'Thanks as always, Martha.'

'It's always good to see you. How's your mister getting on?'

Sam grimaced. 'In London for the weekend, and hating every second of it.'

'I miss Papa,' Ruthie said. There were smudges of chocolate on her cheeks.

'Oh, love,' Martha laughed. She passed her a napkin, which she took by squishing Bertram up into the crook of her arm and chest. 'There now, much better.'

Ruthie giggled. 'Thank you!'

It went as it did most every Sunday. Martha and Sam spoke about the weeks they'd had, and Ruthie wandered about, eating her ice cream but not straying so far as to be out of sight. She stooped down to study flowers, kicked at rocks, gazed longingly towards the distant play-set. Climbed up onto the bench that was placed beside the winding path, still where Sam could see her. She was swinging her legs back and forth, and offering Bertram tastes of her ice cream (she was only just playing pretend, of course – she knew getting ice cream in Bertram's soft fur was a very bad idea, one they'd all learned first hand).

'See you Sunday, Sam! Ruthie!'

'Bye bye, Miss Martha! Thanks for the ice cream!'

Sam waved as Martha closed up shop, and turned away to head back down the path, reaching out so Ruthie could take his hand. 'What do you think of the chocolate?'

'It's very good. You always get vanilla! But you got strawberry, like me.'

'Not like you! Not today.'

'Can we ask Annie over for dinner tonight? I want to talk to her on the phone.'

'Of course we can, baby-girl – I'm sure she'd be delighted to join us.'

The wind blew again, colder, harder. Clouds were rolling in, and the once-sunny day was painted in shades of muted grey. Ruthie pressed closer to him. From across the park, a child shrieked in delighted laughter. Further off, to Sam's trained ears – his leg twinged at the sound of it, and the painful memories it stirred, and the fog that rolled in, washing him away in it – came the loud boom as a car backfired. And angry shouting, though the voices were too far away for Sam to be sure of what was being said.

He stood there a moment, wondering where he was. As he came back to himself, he shook his head – took a deep breath. He had attacks, sometimes – only sometimes, and he knew the signs of undiagnosed PTSD when he saw them – when he heard the sound of a gun being fired, or something else that sounded too similar.

'Come on, Ruthie... let's start heading back to the car. What do you think we should eat tonight? You can help measure out the...'

He reached out to where Ruthie was standing at his side, only, as he turned to look at her, she wasn't there. Ice cream had melted sticky onto his hand and he dropped the unfinished cone as his head whipped about, sudden fear seizing him. The grey path winded away off into the distance, obscured by green foliage that swayed in the wind. Beyond that was the play-set they had been at before they'd stopped for their ice cream, and further yet, the red-brick bones of the city rose up to meet the cloudy sky.

'Ruthie!'

There was no sign of her, no sound of her. Maybe she was playing a prank on him – no, no, she wasn't that sort of child, she wouldn't have thought this funny, she knew it wouldn't make Sam laugh. His blood was pumping, his pulse was racing, but ice-cold terror had engulfed him and rooted him to the ground. 'Ruthie – '

An image flashed in his mind's eyes, clear and precise – Ruthie smiling as she held her ice cream in one hand, but Bertram was nowhere to be seen. Realisation struck him quickly. Oh, she must have set him down as he'd been talking with Martha, but, why hadn't she said something!

She did, Sam, she would have said something, she wouldn't just walk away without _telling_ you that something was wrong! You'd lost yourself in thought, you were staring out into nothing because you are weak, you are useless, and she must have said she'd lost Bertram and you didn't _hear_ – he'd looked away a moment, only, hadn't he? She'd been right at his side!

That broke him from his helpless terror and he broke into a run. The park had seemed so full of life, of other parents, and children, playing and laughing. But he was all alone, now, silence all around him and the sound of his boots hitting the pavement louder than even the powerful pounding of his heart.

'Ruthie! Ruth Anne, please say something! Where are you hiding?!' He was still a panic, knew he needed stop it, to think straight, to _calm down_. But his heart was ready to burst from his chest and she was _gone_ , where had she got to? The world was full of sick people, his city was full of sick people, the sort who would grab a child up from the park and – _no!_ He was a police officer, knew that children missing every single day. Knew the statistics for missing persons by heart, the way he had familiarised himself with so many others. And yes, it was true, most of those stories had happy endings – and his daughter was not, would not ever, become a _statistic_!

He'd find her, she was right around the corner, she was – 

He needed to calm _down_. Get his breathing under a control. Go find some help, before – 

' – Daddy!'

Relief washed through him and came close to knocking him off his feet. He came to a sudden stop and whirled about, took off in the direction she'd shouted from – she was close enough, but so, so very far away. Further away, where the trees were taller, thicker. Behind it, the ground sloped down to a small stream that would have served its purpose fully by the time that 2006 rolled around. The entire area would end up being paved over.

'Ruthie! _Ruthie_!'

He swerved about trees, pushed through the foliage. Water sparkled as the clouds rolled back and the sun came shining back in, but there was no sign of Ruthie – only, there was Bertram, in his grey jumper, cast down onto the grass, big black eyes staring out blankly. Sam stumbled to a halt, swayed from side to side – though maybe that was the whole of the world pitching about him, and him ready to topple into the void.

'Ruthie?' His throat ached from all his shouting, he finally felt the tears in his eyes. 'Ruthie?' He stooped down to reach for the stuffed toy, struggled to breathe. This was not happening. This was not real. 'Let this be a dream,' he murmured, close to sick from it. He had wanted that so badly, once upon a time – for this to all be a dream, for him to wake to, to go back home. But, this was his life now, this was his child, and he'd made his choice. _Gene_ – 

Gene would kill him, or worse, would never forgive him for having let this happen, because it was his fault, he was the one who had let this happen. And that was okay, Sam wouldn't be able to forgive _himself_ – 

Weak, useless, _weak_ – 

He began to stand up, clutching Bertram to him. He would get to a phone, there was bound to be a booth nearby. He would call for help. He would – 

'Daddy,' he heard Ruthie, from right behind him. Spinning about quickly, just as another person said, 'Hello, Detective Inspector.'

He saw his daughter, tears on her face. One of her hair ribbons was gone, curls cascading down that side of her head in a horrible mess. She did not seem to be hurt, and the man who had spoken, who knew that Sam was a cop – he was very tall, with dark hair, a craggy face and eyes that were almost black. He wore a long, dark trench coat, and was holding onto Ruthie by the wrist.

'What – '

Something poked into his back. 'Don't you bloody dare,' another man hissed. He'd had guns turned on him enough times in his life to know exactly what it was, and the truth of the matter dawned on him with stunning clarity as the man with the gun jabbed at him again: it wasn't just Ruthie who was being abducted.

The man with Ruthie smirked, jerked his head to the right. 'How's about we all go for a ride?'

'Please don't hurt her,' he whispered, lifting his hands, fingers spread wide.

The man was still smirking. Ruthie whimpered, dragging her feet as he pulled her along. She could be so brave, and she could be so stubborn – she was Gene's daughter, there was no denying that. Stubborn and headstrong, there was no denying that.

'Please, Ruthie,' he was whispering still, panicked sounding, somewhat hoarse. 'You need to be good.'

She shook her head, struggling. 'Daddy – '

'Come on, kiddo,' said the man who held onto her. He jerked her arm roughly, and Ruthie whimpered again, more loudly, but that didn't stop her – she pulled at him and reached up to grab at him and smack his hand, no, she wasn't going to stop without a fight.

Sam had to stop himself against surging forward – there was a man with a gun standing very close by, and who knew who he planned on shooting, if either of them acted out of line; the calculations all pointed to one thing, and Sam would not let that happen.

More images flashes in his mind. If Ruthie kept fighting, she could get away – Sam would make sure she got away – but the one image he kept coming back to was her, red all over her jumper, lying still on the grass. It froze him, he absolutely couldn't move. Could hardly even speak, tongue heavy in his mouth.

'Ruthie, please.'

'Your pops knows what he's talking about, kid. He doesn't want to see his pretty little girl get hurt.'

Sam was sure he was in shock. Beyond the way that everything seemed to echo, there was a shrill shrieking in his ears, static, sirens, _screeching_. They were obscured from the rest of the park, from the roads beyond, and it was too late to do something, there wasn't any _time_. He saw the white van awaiting them at the kerb, heard Ruthie's small whimpers, distant and distorted but _right_ there.

Sam could only watch as the man who had grabbed his daughter lifted her up and put her into the back of the van. Inside, it was dark and cavernous, the air was stilted and warm – the windows had been painted over. There were lengths of nylon rope, and duct tape, and – the man with the gun clipped him on the shoulder and ordered him inside the van.

'Oi, bastard. Get inside.'

He could run, he could fight it – or he could watch his daughter be shot, or be shot dead in front of her. He would not let either thing happen, he would _not_.

In the end, it wasn't hard for him to decide.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a link to the rest of all that good, good stuff: [Married Coppers](https://archiveofourown.org/series/929274) by [soongtypeprincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soongtypeprincess/pseuds/soongtypeprincess).
> 
> I don't usually do cliffhangers, so, just, enjoy yourselves while I deviate from the norm!


End file.
